


Remembrance Day

by CassieIngaben



Series: Days of Celebration [2]
Category: Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:00:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23284417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassieIngaben/pseuds/CassieIngaben
Summary: We are creatures of habit.
Relationships: Klaus von dem Eberbach/Dorian Red Gloria
Series: Days of Celebration [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824952
Comments: 15
Kudos: 8
Collections: From Eroica With Love - Groups Challenges





	Remembrance Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kadorienne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kadorienne/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Perfect Day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22715548) by [CassieIngaben](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassieIngaben/pseuds/CassieIngaben). 



_Admit it, Gloria. You could never really keep his attention._

Dorian looked up from the blue velvet-lined tray where a small ring glimmered under the clever lighting. It was perfect. No loud gold, no embellishments. A slender band of plain brushed steel. A matching chain to wear it around the neck. Discreet. Legal. Bought with whatever income from the Estate didn't go to taxes and upkeep. He sighed and shook his head.

"I am so sorry. It appears nothing will do. He’s difficult to shop for, you see."

The shop assistant nodded neutrally—too well paid to afford facial expressions—thanked Dorian for his interest, and took away the tray.

_Not with gifts. Not with sex. Not with love._

Outside, diaphanous clouds cast translucent light over the blinding glare of rain puddles. Warm yellow-orange glow from shop windows illuminated the encroaching dusk.

 _That old song:_ Les feuilles mortes. _Late Autumn already._

Back at the Castle, the keepers would be scrutinising the sky, and getting down to their endless struggle with damp. Dorian shrugged. Melancholic while shopping! He must be getting old—a husk of his former self.

_But that is half the problem, isn't it? Getting old. Getting stale._

A mirthless snort escaped him. Who would have reckoned that, of the two of them, it would be _Klaus_ growing bored? And yet, there they were. Fallen into a sort-of established routine, for the joy of the travel agents of this world. Their days together a limpid string of perfect moments of being—a triumph of Dorian's increasingly effective underwater manoeuvrings.

And Klaus increasingly going through the motions.

 _Isn't there anything left to persuade you with? You used to be most inventive in your hate, most ardent in your love. Now, I have become your old_ frau _._

Dorian looked at the manic rush of traffic and people deluging Regent Street. Black asphalt glinting wet. Splashes of red from the Remembrance Day poppies most people wore.

_There is one thing left. The green-eyed monster. But that would be as safe as throwing myself across this street without looking. A bloodbath. And even more dangerously, certain to backfire._

_And yet._

Waiting for the overdue pedestrian light to turn, Dorian's eyes strayed to the slender, lovely shape of the young man to his left—and resurrected a wave of memories.

Everybody knew what had become of Caesar Gabriel. Increasingly odd and reclusive, he had been given an _emeritus_ title and early retirement—the money generous enough for the now not-so-young professor to set up a studio buried deep into the Cotswolds, where he burned his eyes away with a camel hair 3/0 paint-brush on a vast 21.25 x 15.5 feet canvas, aiming at 'completing at last _The Fairy Feller's Master-Stroke_.'

Nobody knew what had washed Caesar Gabriel over such desolate shores.

_Has he regrets? Do I? I used not to understand. I used to think people with regrets were wishy-washy._

Green light. The lovely young man crossed the now relatively safer road, at the forefront of the tide of office workers, tourists and shoppers; his steady path suddenly listing just enough to bump into Dorian. The young man mouthed a silent ‘sorry’ but did not really veer away. Looking through long lashes, he smiled at Dorian.

"Haven't I seen you in the papers, somewhere? You look like—"

_My God, was I ever this unsubtle at his age?_

Dorian's head moved in the beginning of a slight shake; then his eyes narrowed, returning the young man’s meaningful look. A speeding double-decker careened dangerously close to them, standing as they were on the very edge of the kerb.

_So close to danger._

There was a mad spring of laughter bubbling up inside Dorian, as the rejoinder just spurted out of his mouth, his lips giving back redoubled the young man's smile.

"Well, maybe. There are so many ways to find out. If you’re really curious."

_Aren't you curious to find out how I can get us both killed?_

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story written by commission for Kadorienne ages ago, but never finished or published—until now. It can be read as a standalone, or as a sequel to my story Perfect Day.
> 
> Posted for the eroicaml.groups.io 'finish-a-WIP' Challenge 2020 (Feel free to join us at https://eroicaml.groups.io).
> 
> Dorian is thinking about the famous French song Autumn Leaves, which is about relationships that slowly and quietly unravel as lovers grow apart.
> 
> Richard Dadd's The Fairy Feller's Master-Stroke is a 21.25 x 15.5 INCHES oil on canvas kept at the Tate Gallery in London. Caesar Gabriel is painting a huge replica of Dadd’s disturbing picture, which Dadd painted while detained in Bedlam and Broadmoor psychiatric hospitals.


End file.
